


Comfort Me With Apples

by Snacky



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Character Study, Cooking Lessons, F/M, Light Angst, Narnia Fic Exchange 2013, Recipes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snacky/pseuds/Snacky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his time with the Witch, Edmund loses his taste for sweets, but he learns to love apples.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Me With Apples

**Author's Note:**

> Written for thedreamisreal in the 2013 Narnia Fic Exchange.

The Narnians and his siblings worry about him in winter, Edmund knows. Winter was _her_ element, her season, and the first years in Narnia, he knows that he's being watched, to see if he's suffering in any way, if the memory of the Witch is overwhelming in this time. But Edmund is fine — Aslan forgave him, and sacrificed himself for Edmund and for Narnia — and that's not something Edmund takes lightly. 

It seems a waste of the gift given to him to wallow in regret and shame, at the first chill in the air, or at the first sight of snow coming down, and he won't do that. He can't be so selfish again, and winter in Narnia — true winter, not an endless, enchanted world of snow and ice — is lovely, just as any other time of year in Narnia, and Edmund joins his siblings and the Narnians in celebrating the glories of the season, and after a few years, it seems everyone else has forgotten to worry about poor Edmund, and how the snow and the cold might affect him.

It's not winter that makes Edmund have regrets, and what he regrets… Aslan would say that is his own story, and he never shares with anyone else. But Edmund never recovers his taste for sweets, after his experience with the Witch's Turkish Delight. And as a King of Narnia, he has many opportunities to sample the finest sweetmeats and delicacies from all over the world, and there's not one that he really cares for, that reminds him of sweets he so craved as a child and the pleasure taken in consuming a special treat, the way sugar melted on his tongue, and grew sticky on his fingers. Sometimes he wakes from dreams of sweets, and lying in his bed in the dark stillness of night, he thinks he can still taste the elusive sweetness before the dream fades entirely. 

But anything sweet he tries doesn't live up to those dreams, nor to that memory of enchanted Turkish Delight, and how he would have given up anything for one more taste. And the fact that that memory stays with him, and that he still craves the taste, just a little, every day of his life — well, that's where Edmund's regrets lie.

He doesn't tell anyone about the dreams — for he knows they will only worry, and there's no need to have them sending cautious glances his way whenever a dessert is served. Edmund's always polite when offered dessert or a special confection. He declines graciously whenever possible, claiming his appetite has been satisfied with the previous meal. And if there's not a way to turn it down politely, he'll take a bite or two, and praise it, never letting on that it tastes like sawdust in his mouth, unable to compare to the sweet tastes in his dreams. Birthdays can be difficult, especially when it's his and a cake is baked in his honor, but King Edmund is very generous in sharing his treats with others.

He finds himself drawn to plain, simple foods — he visits the Beavers often, for a meal like that first one they served to him, that he didn't much enjoy at the time. But catching and cleaning the fish with Mr. Beaver helps to stir his appetite like nothing else, and the smell of the trout frying in the pan, while the bread warms, and the potatoes boil, clears any thoughts of sweets straight from his mind. And he takes great pleasure in eating it, when it's finally ready.

He learns about fishing in the river and from the sea, and he delights in the shrimps and clams and lobsters he pulls from the shore at Cair Paravel, and carries proudly into the kitchens, to help the cook prepare.

He joins Susan in the castle gardens, and his favorite crop is always potatoes — he loves them served any way, boiled or fried, mashed or scalloped. And he gathers chicken eggs — for hens in Narnia are not Talking Birds — and hunts wild game — never a Talking Beast — and loves all those dishes as well, although Mrs. Reggle, the head cook, often hurries him out of the kitchens, scolding that "Kings and Queens don't need to teach me my job!"

For years, fruit is the closest he comes to sweets, and he loves the wild grapes that grow along the stone walls of the castle gardens, and the figs the come from the groves in the southern march, and the oranges sent from Calormen and Galma. But his favorite are apples, and when he's nineteen, he loses his heart — "and his good sense," Lucy grumbles to Susan, who only smiles and reminds her sister that love will strike her senseless someday too — to an apple tree Dryad.

Both Pomona's apples and her kisses are sweet, and due to her generosity with both, Edmund finds his tastes changing once again. He still turns away from sugary, sticky sweets, but a dessert made with apples - particularly those gifted to him by Pomona - soon moves from something he can tolerate to something he desires. His dreams change, and when he wakes in the night, it's no longer from memories of an elusive sweetness, but it's to reach for Pomona, who offers him sweetness of a different kind.

Pomona blesses the apple orchard Edmund and his siblings have planted at Cair Paravel, and the apples that grow in it are golden and sweet, just like the ones she gives so freely to Edmund. And when they stumble out of Narnia, and back into England, Edmund finds that the thing he most remembers, that stands out the clearest in his mind, is the juicy, delicious taste of Pomona's apples. There's nothing like them in England, and when autumn comes, and the air turns cool and the apples are at their peak of ripeness, he finds himself craving apples and treats made of them. But no matter how many apples he tries, how many pies and puddings he samples, he can never find anything that comes close to the taste of Pomona's.

Once again, his dreams are filled with an elusive sweetness, and the visions of firm golden apples, crisp and juicy, are what he sees when he opens his eyes. He thinks, perhaps, he'll be haunted by the memory of those apples for the rest of his days, just like he was haunted by the memory of Turkish Delight for so long.

But on their second trip to Narnia, when so much is changed, and there isn't a friend left to welcome them home, the orchard is still there at Cair Paravel, and the taste of the apples is all the welcome Edmund needs. He fills every pocket and pouch he can with those apples, and when the others laugh at him for being greedy, Edmund doesn't care.

When it's time to go back to England, Edmund discovers two things: one, that he'd left his torch in Narnia, and two, a few apples in his pockets. He mentions the first to his siblings, but not the second — if it was an unwitting trade, he feels he's got the best end of the deal. 

He brings those apples back to school with him, and while he would like to save them forever, he knows that the apples will shrivel and rot, even with the magic of Narnia still on them. So that first night back at school, when he wakes from a dream of Narnia, he pulls the apples from his coat pocket, and sits in the window, letting the cool autumn breeze rush over him eats them slowly, savoring the taste and the memories of home. And after he finishes them, he wraps the cores carefully, and saves them, for he has an idea.

Like Digory Kirke before him, Edmund plants the cores of those apples — one in the wooded acres behind the fields at his school, and the other, he smuggles home over the holidays, to plant in his backyard. Whether it is the magic of Narnia, or by gift of Aslan, or that the apples still bear the blessing of Pomona, both trees take root, and grow swiftly, into strong apple trees. They both bear much fruit, and Edmund and his siblings agree— they are the best apples they've ever tasted in this world, juicy and sweet, whether eaten straight from the tree, or baked into the most delicious pie they've ever had.

While Edmund still dreams of Narnia and all that he gained and lost in his time there, and he will have these dreams for the rest of his life, he no longer dreams longingly of Pomona's apples, for that sweet taste is his again.

~~

Edmund's Apple Pie:  
 _makes one 9 inch pie_

This is the apple pie that Edmund learned to make in Narnia. 

Actually, while Edmund mastered many things, one thing he was never any good at was cooking, so he never learned to make this pie for himself, but Mrs. Reggle, the head cook at Cair Paravel, knew it was his favorite, and made it for him often.

However, one of his sister Susan's talents was cooking, and she spent many hours in the kitchens at Cair Paravel, learning to make all kinds of dishes. Lucky for Edmund, this pie was one of them, and she made it for him in England, whenever he asked (and sometimes when he didn't, for Susan was thoughtful like that).

Edmund's luck is ours as well, because Susan was glad to share the recipe for this pie with all her family and friends. This is an extra-cinnamony pie, because that was how Edmund liked it best.

**Pastry:**  
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour  
2 tsp cinnamon  
1/4 tsp salt  
1 cup (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter  
1/4 cup shortening (Crisco, but if you want to substitute lard, you have Susan's approval)  
5 tbsp ice water  
1 tsp vanilla extract

**Filling:**  
3 pounds of Pomona's apples (if you can't get Pomona's or other Narnian apples, Susan suggests substituting Granny Smith, Braeburn, or Bramley, enough to make 8 cups sliced), peeled, cored and sliced  
1 tbsp fresh lemon juice  
1/2 cup sugar  
1/3 cup packed brown sugar  
3 tbsp cornstarch  
2 tsp cinnamon  
1/2 nutmeg  
2 tbsp unsalted butter

_Topping:_  
milk for brushing over crust  
1 tbsp sugar mixed with 1/2 tsp cinnamon

2 cups pie weights (or dry beans or dry rice)  
   
Prepare the pastry!

Stir the dry ingredients together. Cut the butter into small pieces and then cut it and the shortening into the dry ingredients using a pastry cutter, until it resembles coarse meal. Add the ice water and vanilla and mix with a fork until the dough comes together.

Divide the dough into two portions--one slightly larger than the other. Press each into a disk about one inch thick, wrap in plastic and stick them in the fridge to chill for at least 1/2 hour.

Susan says you can take a moment to admire the cinnamony dough you just made. But only a moment! Now get to work on the filling!

Preheat oven to 350°.

Put your sliced apples in a medium bowl and toss with the lemon juice. In a separate large bowl, add the sugar, brown sugar, cornstarch, cinnamon, and nutmeg, and stir to combine. 

Susan would like to pass this tip along: when making fruit pies, unless you are specifically told to, do _NOT_ mix the fruit with the dry ingredients until just before you fill the pie crust. If you do, the fruit will get too juicy, and the pie will be soggy. So leave the two separate bowls alone until you're ready to fill the crust.  
   
Now it's time to work on the crust! 

Butter the bottom and sides of a 9 inch pie tin. Flour your rolling surface and roll out the smaller dough disk until it's a 12 inch circle (Susan says not to worry if it's not a perfect circle).

Line the pie tin with the dough, being careful not to stretch the dough anywhere. Trim the messy edges, and chill in the fridge for 15 minutes. Butter the shiny side of 14-inch square of aluminum foil and place it butter side down in your chilled bottom crust. Fill with 2 cups of pie weights, dry beans or rice. Bake this on a cookie sheet for 20 minutes, or until slightly golden. Transfer to a cooling rack, remove the foil and weights and let the crust cool slightly.

While it cools, roll out the other dough disk to a circle about 13 inches in diameter. Let it sit for a second.

Now is the time to toss together the apples and the dry filling ingredients. Working quickly, fill the pie shell with the apples. Susan says, "you should have a mountain of apple slices." Remember the two tablespoons of unsalted butter? Cut it into little chunks and dot the apples with it. 

Now is the tricky part.

Top the apples with the top crust, and crimp it to the bottom crust. Susan says, "this is tricky because unbaked crust doesn't really want to stick to baked crust." But do your best, and remember it doesn't have to look perfect, just taste good (this was Edmund's philosophy, anyway).

Trim off any ragged edges (Susan says scissors are easier than a knife) and cut about 4 oval shaped slits in the crust to let steam out during baking. Make sure they're big enough to stay opened as the crust bakes and expands.

Here is the part that made it Edmund's favorite apple pie: quickly brush the top crust with milk, and sprinkle all of that delicious cinnamon and sugar over the top.

Put the pie on a cookie sheet, and bake on the bottom rack of the oven for one hour. After one hour, transfer the pie and cookie sheet to the middle rack and bake for 10 more minutes.

Allow to cool slightly before slicing.

Peter liked this pie served with whipped cream and a sprinkle of more cinnamon, and Lucy liked it best with vanilla ice cream (and if you've never had vanilla ice cream made in Narnia, from the finest vanilla beans grown on the island of Galma, well… Susan will have to share that recipe with you some other time). However, Edmund rather thought that they both were gilding the lily, and preferred it best without any accompaniments.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Edmund's Apple Pie is adapted from Ann Hodgman's recipe from _Beat This_.


End file.
